scientificflair: (pic#3588369)
Private Text to Emmy Altava )


[VIDEO]

[Well, if you're familiar with the stores around Goldenrod (or even if you're not, and just happened to wander in there one day by chance) then the chances are good that you're aware of a music shop nestled amongst the larger stores and malls. More specifically and to the point, you may be aware of the piano set up within the shop itself - both for the sake of lessons to those willing to pay, and to advertise others like it for purchase. Descole is in here for neither, though had he the space he wouldn't be terribly opposed to the latter; for the last couple of days, he's come in when business is slow and settled himself behind the keys, sometimes playing, sometimes just running his hands over them lightly. Today, however, he is clearly settling for none of that. The camera clicks on after seeming to have been set up directly alongside the keys, showing nothing but his hands and a bit of the long ruffled sleeves covering the backs of them; he begins playing after a bit, and...uh. It's a bit difficult to say what in the world set him off but he's having at fairly hard and holding absolutely nothing back, his hands fast and firm on the keys. It's not anything classical, or even anything terribly classy; it's somewhat more akin to...well. While it isn't anywhere near exact, it's closer to this than anything.

Yeah. Um. There's probably something to be said for the fact that Descole is baring his soul to the world and it sounds sorta like Skrillex, but we won't go there.

His hands linger on the keys for a moment after the sound dies; the camera angle doesn't adjust any, leaving his face well out of the shot, but after a moment Descole speaks, his tone clipped and more abrupt than usual.

He's clearly a bit stressed; he's doing a terrible job of concealing it.]


I'm looking for ways to further improve myself. Anything at all. Physically, intellectually, I don't particularly care. Tell me what you excel at; I want to hear what your talents are.

I don't care that time doesn't pass back home, not while we're here; there is still such a thing as having been here too long. If I can't return to my life's work...

[He pauses for a moment; without warning, he slams his hands down heavily on the keys, the sudden clash ringing out sharply. One can...pretty much hear the rather alarmed sound of the shopkeeper in the background, telling him to watch it.]

I've had enough. Give me something to pursue.

[And with that, end feed.]
scientificflair: (Now that the smoke's gone)
[VIDEO]

[Well, Johto, you're being greeted with another video feed from Descole today; feel honored!

Or at least, feel pleased that this time the camera is angled a bit more straight-on, so one can actually see the person speaking, as opposed to some sort of melodramatic hipster angle that gives you a grand view of his left shoulder because true art is incomprehensible and vague and poorly-lit.

Of course, he still has the mask on, along with everything else he's usually wearing to ensure that you can see as little of him as possible, but that's pretty much par for the course.]


As obvious as it is that these creatures are supposed to be used for battle, I haven't had the opportunity to test these things out - as such, I'm looking for challengers.

Levels are irrelevant; I simply want to see what these things are capable of.

[ACTION]

[Aaaaand after that little announcement is out there, today will grant you the rare sight of a wild Descole outside of his natural habitat - it seems that he's seen fit to finally venture outside of the usual den that is the Rocket labs in order to...

...to...

...well, he's certainly doing something, though it's a bit difficult to say what. For the time being, his Metang is kind of chilling over some of the grass at the entrance to Route 34, doing its usual levitating thing, though it isn't hovering at any sort of great height; Descole is circling the creature, pacing around it for a while before he backs off a short distance, his hand propped against his chin in an obvious contemplative gesture.

And then he quite simply takes what distance he's made, uses it for a running start, and jumps rather neatly onto the creature's back, landing with one knee planted down and both hands lightly in front of him for the sake of balance.

The Metang wobbles dangerously about upon that landing (because dear lord you are a grown man you are going to fall the hell off), but manages to retain a general sense of equilibrium; Descole, to his credit, does not fall the hell off, though he definitely waits until balance has been restored before standing up - looking a bit shaky, admittedly, but standing nonetheless - and hopping off.]


That was much better - I think it'll work out, really.

[...yeah, he's been at this for a while. But come on, this thing is a tremendous murderbeast that's built for battle...and more importantly, it is built for dramatic entrances! You cannot look at that thing and tell him that you can't see the potential for dramatic entrances, and Descole is going to work on this until a dramatic entrance is achieved.]
scientificflair: (Your early ending was all wrong)
[The 'Gear had been an interesting thing to figure out - an amusing little toy, really; while calling it a puzzle would have been giving it entirely too much credit, Descole had enjoyed himself with it for a while. The afternoon had been spent watching the others post to the network; apparently he wasn't the only one that had randomly found himself stuck here. Really, there had been at least one other that day posting to say that they had found themselves in the same predicament.

How odd.

Tonight, his own feed comes alive, focusing in on a dimly-lit room and just enough of a figure to indicate that there's a person sitting in that chair over there, though he's leaning back and the camera is situated at an angle in relation to the person, keeping his face out of view of the camera. There doesn't appear to be too many distinguishing points about the individual, as he appears to be draped in a long black cape of some sort, though toward the upper corner of the frame, there's an obvious fluffy shock of white among all the dark folds of fabric, and the edges of his sleeves are ruffled and white, pale against what's visible of his hands where they're folded against what appears to be a desk or table of some sort.

All part of the act, of course; keep the audience guessing.

When he speaks, his voice is cordial, but almost stiffly formal - not quite rehearsed, but he's clearly been thinking about what to say for some time.]


Assuming this message manages to reach anyone, if someone would do me the favor of actually obliging me and letting me know where I am, that would be appreciated - there was a red-haired woman in here earlier claiming that she was doing exactly that, but unfortunately, she didn't say anything terribly useful.

[He leans forward a bit, the slightest hint of a smirk edging into the frame above that white boa.]

And if anyone just happens to know where my swords have gone...really, if you know what's in your best interests you'll return them as quickly as possible. I can't say there won't be any hard feelings, but I'm sure we can work something out.

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Jean Descole

January 2020

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